Chapter Text
When Mike was eleven, his life dropped out from underneath him and everything was washed in colors of red and grey.
He always though of the time before like a fond memory, like something he could point to and say ‘there, right there.’ Like someone else’s life that he had happened to stumble on in a book and wanted as his own.
Instead the after starts with him sitting a couple rooms over from something very dead and Mike covered in its blood. The after has him staring at his classmate that he met three weeks ago and the older man that had dropped him off with a shotgun touching his shoulder briefly before turning away and walking into the other room where the creature (and his parents, a part of his brain whispers) lay. The after has the older man nod at the youngest boy, who actually shot down the, the thing, down and saying “Sam,” like it was a full sentence and Sam was already across the room and standing in front of Mike in a heartbeat.
The after had Sam looking at him and trying to comfort him without actually doing anything that might spook him.
Mike’s head hurts and there is a low grade humming in the background that is blocking out everything else, but even he knows that a thirteen year old boy should not be able to shot down something without a flinch and then comfort someone, unless they have done it many, many times.
The humming is getting louder and he wonders briefly if his ears are bleeding. He saw it happen once on TV and right now that’s all he has to get through this. He tries to place the images of Sam he had before, the too quiet boy with shaggy hair and clothes too big for him. The boy that was too smart and dorked out over things with him that Trevor wouldn’t even look at. Sam had smiled and said his brother (his incredibly cool brother who had gotten with a quarter of the senior girls and some collage chicks, and had pulled a snarling thing off of him before getting knocked through the wall not a half hour ago), doesn’t understand it other.
Sam shouldn’t be standing in his apartment with a shotgun held loosely in his hand like this is just what he does.
(Mike wonders through the shock if Sam ever had a before and doesn’t want to think what his after would be like if didn’t.)
Mike thinks, a little hysterically, that he doesn’t know how to talk to that Sam.
“-ike?” Sam’s voice pushes through haze and it’s got a hint of panic in it, like this wasn’t the first he said Mike’s name.
Mike looks up finally, looking at Sam’s face for a moment before really seeing. Sam’s eyes are concerned and far too old for his face. He tries to remember if he ever noticed that before but everything is running through his fingers like sand and he can’t possibly keep up. “Hey Sam,” he says without looking away from Sam, not missing the slight flinch. “Sam,” he searches for his words and finds he is missing to many and doesn’t want to remember any more. He tries again, “Sam, I don’t-what just happened? Sam?” He feels like if he says it enough, everything might make more sense. He feels a whimper escape his throat and everything is too raw now.
Sam, through whatever practice he may have, doesn’t lie to him, doesn’t try and hide the truth, and even at eleven, Mike can only silently thank him for not trying to pull a veil over his eyes. ‘these are not the droids you are looking for.’
“A werewolf,” Sam starts off, like he was talking about the new book he finished or some late night movie his brother and him watched last night. “it broke into your house, it attacked your family and tried to attack you.”
“Werewolves are real,” He hears himself asking but he honestly cannot be surprised anymore, just feels the dull fear as sharp teeth and even sharper claws tear across his memory like an instant replay. Sam nods his head anyway, but doesn’t seem to be saying anything else.
The humming has turned into a buzzing noise and he wants to swat it away but he doesn’t feel attached to his body anymore.
The older boy, (Dean his mind says helpfully) walks in but stays at the door. Blood is dripping from his face and onto his shirt but he doesn’t seem to notice as he checks Sam over and turns his eyes onto Mike and he wants to crawl away. Because Dean isn’t the cool older brother that gets every girl he wants. Dean is no longer the over-protective brother that Sam rolled his eyes over when Dean would get over bearing, the cool older brother that would hang out with his brother and his dorky friends then any of the cool kids.
Mike never knew how to talk to the first Dean and this one threw a monster across a room for touching his brother.
“Dean,” Sam says forcibly at his brother and Dean inclines his head at Sam back. Sam furrows his brows and shakes his head. Dean stares at him moment longer before nodding and heading out of the room again, this time for the front door. Mike only ever saw his parents talk without talking and it brings a painful spike in his heart and he thinks ‘oh god his parents.’ But the buzzing becomes more present and the pain goes away.
Sam doesn’t leave after his brother and instead gets closer and between one blink and another, Mike is pressed up against Sam, holding his jacket in a white knuckle grip, noises filling the room. It isn’t until he feels the hot tears stream down his cheeks that he realizes the sounds are from him and he can’t stop has he clutches harder at the older boy. Everything is getting louder and louder and a quiet thirteen year old boy just shot down a werewolf in front of him and his parents are dead and his crying is breaking the stillness left behind after the last gunshot was fired and had roared through the room.
***
He had thought, no he knew, that when he came back to school a couple weeks later that Sam and his family were gone and would never come back and he would never see Sam Winchester again.
(He was wrong, but that wasn’t new)
He saw Sam (and only Sam, his family an empty space like a missing limb) many years later, but that wouldn’t have made a difference. Even without near photographic memory, that night was forever burned in his brain. He was across the country, him and his grandmother saving every penny they could so he could tour the best schools in the country, law school set in his mind like a mantra when he stopped at Stanford and found himself face to face with an older (and taller) Sam Winchester.
Or rather, face to side because Sam was sitting down in the library looking exhausted and reading a thick book and Mike was staring at him like a deer caught in the headlights. It probably would stayed that way if Sam hadn’t rubbed his face in frustration and tore his eyes away from the book, glancing over for a moment and froze.
Mike guessed he wasn’t the only one good with faces.
Sam, impossibly, tried to make himself smaller, tucking his tall frame into hunch and looked like he was ready to bolt, and Mike realized with a jolt it was because he thought Mike was ready to bolt or do something and he didn’t want to put Mike through that.
Mike felt a warm rush of appreciation towards Sam because that was such a Sam thing to do. Even in the short time Mike got to know him, Sam was the last person he knew that would harm anyone.
That one night excluded, of course.
Before Mike could even think about it he was across the room and sitting at the chair in front of Sam and saying “Hey Sam,” like the last time he saw Sam wasn’t at his parents funeral, where his brother and him had both wore uncomfortable black suits and paid their respects without saying anything to Mike. Not like they were being rude but because there was nothing they could say to him that he could bear to listen to at the time.
But see, Mike had grown up since then as well. Years has passed since that night and although the memory will never fade and his parent’s will never be alive again doesn’t mean he can’t live. The fear had dulled, and only during full moons did he lock every door and window in his home, even when his grandmother gives him a look. A gun never felt right in his hands and thing that killed his parents was already dead.
(He also knew that if it hadn’t been for Sam and his family, he would have been right next to his parents at their funeral and sometimes he doesn’t even know how to feel about that.)
“Hey Mikey,” Sam says hesitantly, using his old nickname, before shutting the book with a muffled thud. “I didn’t know you went to Stanford.”
“Oh,” Mike intones as much casual-ness in his voice to make Sam realize he wasn’t going to bite. “Not yet. I’m looking around for law schools and Stanford is on my list. You know, working my way into scholarships, all that nonsense.” He smiles at and see Sam loosen up a little.
“Yeah? You’re going into law?” and he knows that tone, the tone that had come up when he had made an obscure joke about some late night movie after his brain had kept him awake and Sam had caught it and rolled his eyes hard at him but knew exactly what he was talking about. “That’s, uh, that’s what I’m going for too. I mean, what I’m studying for.” He looks embarrassed to admit it, like it was some big secret.
“Really?” Mike is actually pleasantly surprised by this and he glances at the book Sam is leaning on, not seeing a title but looking old and worn and not really a law book. “I thought you would still be with, you know, your family, doing, uh, family things.” He finishes lamely and tries not wince at how awkward all of this is.
“oh, yeah, hunting. I, um, gave that up. To go to school. Yeah. “ Sam isn’t doing any better with awkward thing but it seems like they are both going to try to push through it.
“What’s um, that book then?” or not. Mike really has to work on the brain to mouth function at some point.
“Ah, well. I mean, I quit, I did!” Mike nods along with Sam’s words, helping him get his thoughts in order. “But there have been, I mean, there has been killings surrounding the area and I’m just, checking. You know.” Sam looks pained for a second, “it’s never too much to be cautious. But there isn’t anything in here to indicate what it could be and now I just feel like I’m running circles around my head now. I mean there reall-“, Sam stops himself and looks at Mike, “I’m just going to shut up now.” he mumbles before looking down, the tips of his ears burning red.
Mike would laugh at Sam getting so flustered but he thinks that might be a little cruel so instead he just asks, “What do you think it might be?” And after that it’s easy. What should awkward sprinkled with some more awkward on top with a little awkward cherry to complete it; it’s easy. Despite everything he knows, despite all the fear he still holds for what is out there, even now. Fear that makes him read up on every supernatural creature that hides in the dark and thinks ‘I got lucky.’ Fear that makes his logical brain want to curl up into a little ball and hide forever.
Fear that doesn’t want others to go through what he did and without even thinking (again) he offers to help Sam research and Sam gets an expression that’s half relief and half pained with something hiding underneath that but accepts anyway, muttering about how it is probably nothing.
They spend the night going through what seems like every book in the library before Sam makes a low noise in his throat and whispers “of course.” Mike is tempted to ask but he almost falls asleep half through the word. Sam looks up and quirks a smile. He gets up and Mike looks up (and up and up) put away all the books and then practically carries Mike to Sam’s dorm room.
If he wasn’t falling asleep where he stood he probably would have been embarrassed. But he isn’t and he’ll save it for tomorrow.
Sam huffs a laugh as he lays Mike on a bed (wonderful, gorgeous bed) and Mike thinks he may have just that said that out loud.
When he wakes the next morning, Sam is already dressed and ready. He shows Mike around campus and pointedly doesn’t say anything about the marathon researching they did that night. Instead, soaking in the California sun, he laughs at stupid jokes and makes even worse ones that make Sam’s eyes crinkle in the corner, making him look younger then he really is. It’s a good look on him.
Sam drops him off at his hotel and bids him good night and still doesn’t mention the research. It’s not until he heads to bed that he realizes Sam was thanking him and just didn’t know how to get the words out.
The smile he goes to bed with is still there in the morning.
He doesn’t see Sam again until he is just about to leave, heading to the greyhound station. His face is three different colors and Mike doesn’t want to know how much that bump on temple hurts. Just winces when he sees him and Sam gives him a rueful smile and raises a (bruised, injured) hand to brush the hair around to cover his face better. (It doesn’t work)
“Doesn’t hurt to be cautious,” he says it like it just is, again. And he hopes Sam can get out of this life, he really does but he doesn’t think he will and with that thought he puts his number in Sam’s phone.
When Sam begins to protest, he just says back, “Doesn’t hurt to be cautious,” as he gives back Sam’s phone. Sam nods thoughtfully and bids Mike good bye with a smile in his eyes.
Mike now knows this won’t be the last time he talks with Sam Winchester.